So I Married a Sorcerer (The Embraced #2)(17)

“Exactly.” Sister Fallyn grabbed one of the goblets and took a gulp. “I’m sure the scoundrel is fully aware of how handsome he is.”

“Rupert?”

Sister Fallyn looked shocked. “Nay, the captain. Good goddesses, who would know what that horrid Rupert looks like, what with that hideous mask he’s wearing.”

Brigitta winced inwardly. Why did she feel so certain that he was handsome? Maybe she was being overly dramatic. After all, how could a sorcerer be her tall and handsome stranger? The very notion was ludicrous, and she was letting the Telling Stones make a fool out of her.

This is reality, she told herself. She was surrounded by pirates, not dashing young heroes. If she needed to be rescued, she would have to do it herself.

Sister Fallyn set down her goblet with a heavy thunk. “We must be vigilant and remain alert at all times.”

“Aye.” Brigitta nodded in agreement. Forget the Telling Stones. She would be the author of her own destiny.

“We’ll take turns sleeping and standing guard.” Sister Fallyn paced about the room. “And no matter what, we must not let them separate us. That would be tantamount to disaster.”

Brigitta blinked. “Disaster?”

“Aye.” Sister Fallyn stopped to give her a sympathetic look. “Ye poor innocent. Do ye not know what pirates do?”

“They … plunder.”

“And?”

Brigitta considered. There’s always another village for me to pillage. “They pillage. And make bad poetry.” She took a sip of wine.

“They ravish women.”

Brigitta sputtered. “What?” She wiped her mouth.

“I know.” Sister Fallyn nodded her head knowingly. “’Tis shocking. But it is the way of pirates. No doubt, they plan to ravish us.”

Brigitta inhaled sharply as she glanced at the chair wedged beneath the door latch. Was that what Rupert had meant about being free with his hands? “Are ye sure?”

“Aye.” Sister Fallyn resumed her pacing. “Ye saw all those burly, half-naked men. They mean to ravish us for sure. First, they’ll seduce us with honeyed words. Then they’ll lure us in for a passionate kiss.”

“But surely the captain wouldn’t let—”

“Oh, he would be the worst!” Sister Fallyn pressed a hand against her chest. “A man like him would never be satisfied with just a kiss.”

Brigitta eyed the nun’s flushed face. “Are ye all right?”

“I’ll be fine.” She rummaged through the drawers of the sideboard, but they only contained a few linen napkins. “We need a weapon. And we mustn’t let anyone through that door!”

A knock sounded, and Sister Fallyn spun toward the door. Brigitta’s heart lurched.

“Ladies?” Jeffrey called. “I’ve brought your food.”

Brigitta exhaled with relief. “’Tis only the boy.”

“But he may not be alone,” Sister Fallyn whispered.

As the door swung back into the passageway, the chair fell over.

“Jeepers.” Jeffrey looked askance at the fallen chair as he stepped around it. “I brought you some food.”

“That’s very sweet of you.” Brigitta rushed forward to relieve him of the tray. “Why, this looks wonderful!” She set it on the table. There was a plate filled with cold sliced beef and cheese, a bowl of fruit, a small loaf of bread, a crock of butter, and some utensils.

“Aha!” Sister Fallyn grabbed the knife. “This is exactly what we need. Ye can spread the word, child, that if any man comes in here, I will gullet him!”

Jeffrey’s eyes widened. “With a butter knife?”

“Sister,” Brigitta whispered, shaking her head.

“Oh.” Sister Fallyn grabbed a fork and checked the sharpness of the tines. “This might work better.”

Jeffrey stepped back, watching Sister Fallyn with a wary look. “Why do you want to attack someone?”

“To keep from being ravished, of course.”

The boy scratched at his brown hair. “What’s that?”

“Never mind about that for now.” Brigitta motioned to the rip in her gown. “Do ye think ye could find me some needle and thread?”

“A needle!” Sister Fallyn nodded with a gleam in her eyes. “That would make a good weapon.”

Jeffrey frowned at the nun and whispered, “Is she all right?”

“She’ll be fine.” Brigitta tried to change the subject once again as she led the boy toward the door. “Ye speak the Eberoni language very well.”

“Of course. I’m from Eberon,” Jeffrey explained. “I grew up in a fishing village called Danport. Rupert buys food for his fleet there.”

“Buys?” Sister Fallyn scoffed. “Don’t ye mean he steals whatever—”

“No!” The boy looked offended. “Rupert always pays for his supplies. And he pays with gold. The villagers call him a hero.”

Brigitta blinked, taken by surprise. A hero? “But he’s clearly a thief. The gold he’s paying with was stolen.”

“But he only steals from the king because Gunther’s a stinking bastard!” Jeffrey slapped a hand over his mouth. “I ain’t supposed to say that. You won’t tell the captain on me, will you?”